Imatges de pÓgina

SCENE I. LONDON. An Antechamber in the Palace. Enter the Duke of NORFOLK, at one Door; at the

other, the Duke of BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD ABERGAVENNY. Buck.


Tood morrow, and well met. How have

you done, Since last we saw in France ? Nor.

I thank your grace:
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.

An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those sans of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Arde.

"Twixt Guynes and Arde:
I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;


Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have

Such a compounded one?

All the whole time
I was my chamber's prisoner.

Then you lost
The view of earthly glory: Men might say,
Till this time, pomp was single; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's: To-day, the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India : every man, that stood,
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt: the madams too,
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: now this mask
Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them: him in eye,
Still him in praise: and being present both,
'Twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner
Durst wag bis tongue in censure.

When these suns
(For so they phrase them), by their heralds challeng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believ'd.

O, you go far. Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to.

All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebellid, Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. Buck.

Who did guide,

I mean, who set the body and the limbs
of this great sport together, as you guess?

Nor. One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.

I pray you, who, my lord? Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend cardinal of York.

Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie is free'd
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder,
That such a keech can with his very bulk
Take up the rays o'the beneficial sun,
And keep it from the earth.

Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends :
For, being not propp'd by ancestry (whose grace
Chalks successors their way), nor call'd upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like,
Dut of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own inerit makes his way;
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.

I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him: Whence has he that?
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard;
Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.

Why the devil,
Upon this French going-out, took he upon him,
Without the privity o'the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the filo
Of all the gentry; for the most part such
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon : and his own letter,
The honourable board of council out,
Must fetch him in he papers.

I do know


Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sicken’d their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.

0, many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on them
For this great journey. What did this vanity
But minister communication of
A most poor issue?

Grievingly I think,
The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.

Every man,
After the hideous storm that follow
A thing inspir’d: and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy,—That this

Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.

Which is budded out;
For France bath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

Is it therefore
The ambassador is silenc'd?

Marry, is't.
Aber. A proper title of a peace; and purchas'd
At a superfluous rate!

Why, all this business
Our reverend cardinal carried.

'Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise

you (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety), that you read The cardinal's malice and his polency Together: to consider further, that What his high hatred would effect, wants not A minister in his power : You know his natore, That he's revengeful; and I know, his sword Hath a sharp edge; it's long, and, it may be said, It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,

You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.
Enter CARDINAL Wolsey (the Purse borne before

him), certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with
Papers. The "CARDINAL in his Passage fixeth his
Eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BucKINGHAM on him,
both full of disdain.

Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
Where's his examination?
1 Secr.

Here, so please you.
Wol. Is he in person ready ?
1 Secr.

Ay, please your grace.
Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and Bucking-

ham Shall lessen this big look. [Exeunt Wolsey and Train.

Buck. This butcher's cur is venoni-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore, best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Out-worths a poble's blood. Nor.

What are you chaf’d? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only, Which your disease requires. Buck.

I read in his looks
Matter against me; and his eye revild
Me, as his abject object : at this instant
He bores me with some trick : He's gone to the king;
I'll follow, and out-stare him.

Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What ʼtis you go about: To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like
A fúll-hot horse; who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not

a man in England
Can advise me like you: be to yourself
A's you would to your friend.

I'll to the king :
And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim,
There's difference in no persons.

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